


A Series of Unfortunate Events

by almostprimary



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mental Instability, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Pre-Canon, Schizophrenia, Slow Burn, Swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 11:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15435648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostprimary/pseuds/almostprimary
Summary: “Why the hell have you been throwing pebbles at my window for ten minutes? It’s 23:00, I have no interest in you, stranger. Go home.” Akaashi snarls into the humid summer air.“You’re not Kuroo,” Boy states, blush spreading from his cheeks to his whole face.Boy lifts his arm to run a hand through his head of black and silver hair sheepishly. He opens his mouth to apologize but Akaashi can barely register the words that come out of his mouth becauseholy biceps.





	A Series of Unfortunate Events

**Author's Note:**

> this sat in my drafts for a very long time. currently on a block, comment any suggestions you have because i'm starving for inspiration. also the fic is trash and everyone is ooc.

tap 

  


_ As I'm sure you know, it is unlikely for a car dealership to be found in the middle of the ocean, although I have heard of a rickshaw salesman who does business in a grotto hidden deep in the Caspian Sea.  _

  


tap 

  


_ It is very tiresome to travel with someone who is constantly making demands, particularly if the demands are for utterly impossible things, and the children found that they could no longer hold their tongues, _

  


tap 

  


_ a phrase which here means confronting Olaf about his foolishness. _

  


tap

  


   Akaashi slams his book cover shut with excessive force. Three miserable Baudelaire faces stare at the raven as he stands up from the chair at his desk and stomps over to his bedroom window, unable to hold his tongue any longer. 

   “Why the hell have you been throwing pebbles at my window for ten minutes? It’s 23:00, I have no interest in you, stranger. Go home.” Akaashi snarls into the humid summer air. 

   Normally, he would be more polite. But the boy standing on his front lawn had interrupted his reading time. More specifically, the time of day where Akaashi could sit down and lose himself in a good Lemony Snicket book. Interrupting this time, was an unforgivable crime. Akaashi strains his eyes to see who exactly had come to disturb him in the night, especially at such a precious moment. He first sees golden eyes blinking slowly at him, looking dumbfounded.

   “You’re not Kuroo,” the boy states, blush spreading from his cheeks to his whole face. 

   “No,” Akaashi replies, feeling his throat go dry. The entire situation was growing more peculiar at an exponential rate. Akaashi was predicting that the next installment in his series of unfortunate events was probably going to revolve around the attractive boy standing on his front lawn.

Boy lifts his arm to run a hand through his head of black and silver hair sheepishly. He opens his mouth to apologize but Akaashi can barely register the words that come out of his mouth because  _ holy biceps. _

   “Anyway, he just moved into this neighbourhood but I guess he gave me the wrong address. Oh, by the way, I’m Bokuto.”

   Akaashi snaps back into the real world as Bokuto finished telling his story. 

   “Why did you need to throw rocks at his window? Why didn’t you just knock on his door?” Akaashi asks. Given the current situation, he felt like he deserved answers. Not that he had any real concern for this ‘Bokuto’ character anyways, no matter how interesting he was.

   “He was supposed to sneak out and come with me to this party- oh  _ shit _ ,” Bokuto gasps, pulling his phone out of his pocket to look at the time. 

   “What is it, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks, trying his best to sound nonchalant. 

   Bokuto turns around quickly and takes off into a jog. “I gotta go! See you later, cute window boy!” he yells, disappearing into the darkness of the night.  

   Akaashi sighs and turns back to his book,  _ see you later _ echoing in his ears.

  


* * *

  


tap 

  


_ The Baudelaires watched the terrible argy-bargy and wondered how they could have the island would be a safe place, far from the treachery of the world, when eventually every treachery washed up on its shores, _

  


tap 

  


_ like a castaway rossed by a storm at sea, and divided the people who lived there. The arguing voices of the villagers grew louder and louder, _

  


tap 

  


_ with everybody suggesting something but nobody listening to anyone else’s suggestions, until the schism was a deafening roar that was finally broken by the loudest voice of all. _

  


crack

  


   “Damn it,” Akaashi hisses as he slams his book shut (again) and makes a beeline towards his bedroom window, feeling a hint of deja vu.

   “I... am so sorry!” Bokuto yells, looking guiltily at the window. 

   Akaashi blinks twice before turning his attention to the crime scene. Four long curves sprout from a chip in the corner of the thick glass, like a spider web or a very large snowflake. 

   “It’s fine, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi sighs, leaving his window momentarily to get duct tape. Bokuto looked physically deflated when he returns to start patching up the glass. Bokuto’s shoulders are slumped over, spine curved at a slightly alarming angle and Akaashi swears that even his  _ hair _ is standing flatter than before.

   “You’re not mad?” Bokuto asks quietly, looking at the ground. It was a miracle that Akaashi could even hear him from such a distance. 

   “Don’t worry about it,” Akaashi said stiffly. He didn’t really care, honestly. The thing he was most upset about was that he was interrupted from reading his book, again. 

   “I wanted to come and apologize for last time I disturbed you, but I didn’t know if your parents would be asleep or something, so I threw more rocks at your window, ya know? But I think the last one was too big or something, or maybe I threw it too hard… I am sorry, window-boy.”

_ He wanted to apologize for disturbing me, so he repeated the exact thing that disturbed me?  _ Akaashi frowns and surrenders his attempts to understand Bokuto’s logic. 

   “My parents aren’t here. You won’t wake them up,” Akaashi says dryly, beginning to run out of patience. 

   “Oh! I don’t live with my parents!” Bokuto exclaimed, suddenly buzzing with the same energy from their first meeting. “I moved in with my aunt this year ‘cuz it’s closer to my high school! We’ve got a really good volleyball team!”

   At the mention of his favourite sport, Akaashi’s interest peaked. The words that came out of his mouth next surprised even himself. 

   “Bokuto-san, would you like to come in for a minute?”

  


* * *

  


   “Hey hey hey!” Bokuto yells upon entering Akaashi’s house. “Pardon the intrusion!” 

   “Bokuto-san, you’re going to disturb the neighbours,” Akaashi says softly. 

   “Sorry, sorry,” he pauses to take off his shoes before speaking again. “By the way, you never told me your name,” Bokuto says, tilting his head to the side.

   “Akaashi. Akaashi Keiji.”

   “Do you play volleyball?” Bokuto asks, bouncing on his feet as Akaashi leads him to the kitchen. 

   Akaashi nods silently and started to brew tea, unsure of exactly what to do now that he’s invited Bokuto into his house. The boy was practically a stranger. 

   “What position?” 

   “Setter.”

   “Awesome! I’m a wing spiker! You should toss to me sometime! I’ll need to practice extra hard when I become the ace of my team!” Bokuto yells, which seems to be the go-to way of expressing himself. 

   “We’ll have to see about that.”

   Despite their clashing personalities, Akaashi found it very easy to talk with Bokuto. The silver-haired boy was loud, ardent and excitable. Bokuto said that Akaashi was too serious and tense, but he said it innocently, with no intended malice. That was Bokuto, a shiny clear diamond that had seemingly not yet been tainted by the dirt of modern day society. 

   “What team do you play for, Bokuto-san?”

   “Fukurodani Academy! I’m only a first year, but I’m already a starter! All the upperclassmen think that I’m amazing! Maybe we’ll play each other sometime.” Bokuto boasts proudly, grinning.

   “Maybe,” Akaashi agreed. “Though I’m still in junior high.”

   “Really?” Bokuto gasped. “But you’re almost as tall as I am!” Bokuto raises an arm above his head to compare their heights and pouts. 

   After a few more hours of idle chatter, Akaashi found himself leaning over to rest his cheek against a warm, strong shoulder, dozing off with a smile on his face. 

   “‘Kaashi,” Bokuto whispers, poking at Akaashi’s pale cheek. “It’s late, I should go. You should get some sleep.”

   Akaashi drowsily peeked one eye open to look at Bokuto, the latter giving him a small smile. It was different from the other ones he had been flashing about for the past few hours, something about it seemed more genuine, more intimate. Bokuto’s lidded eyes and lips curved into a thin line made Akaashi’s chest ache with an unknown feeling, warm and buzzing like the aura that surrounds Bokuto. Akaashi quickly picks himself off of Bokuto’s shoulder and stands up, feeling the warmth start to spread to his cheeks. 

   “Of course. Sorry for keeping you so late, your aunt must be worried.”

   Bokuto shifts uncomfortably on his feet and looks to the ground, ignoring the raven’s remark.  “Thanks for inviting me in. I had a lotta fun. Good night Akaashi.”

   Akaashi watched Bokuto disappear into the night again as a wave of exhaustion and confusion hit him. Why had he invited Bokuto- a stranger into his home so late in the night? Why wasn’t he mad about the window getting cracked? Was it the influence of Bokuto’s charisma and endless amounts of energy? Possibly his biceps and interest in volleyball? Maybe it’s because Bokuto doesn’t ask too many questions- for example why a junior high boy is staying alone in his house all night long. 

   No, it was definitely the biceps, Akaashi decides, a grin taking over his face.

  


* * *

 Akaashi exhales deeply as he steps into gymnasium number four, reserved for the Fukurodani Academy boys’ volleyball team. He had found out earlier that day of his acceptance onto the team, being one of four first-years who made it. However, the list posted near Akaashi’s classroom only included the names of first-year students; therefore it was unknown to him whether anyone with the last name ‘Bokuto’ would make an appearance. (Akaashi had yet to see spiky silver hair or 24 karat eyes anywhere else in his first week of high school, so volleyball practice would be his best bet.) Akaashi lifts his head up straight and pulls his fiddling hands apart from each other, instead opting to stick them in his pockets.  _ There’s no use in procrastinating, _ he decides.  _ I’ve had enough time to prepare for this. _

_   
_

* * *

 

Bokuto had gone to visit Akaashi three times after cracking his bedroom window with a rock. The first time, it was a Saturday in September and Bokuto actually knocked on Akaashi’s door in the afternoon. Bokuto was holding a volleyball and half-melted ice cream. Akaashi set up the backyard-net he got for his birthday last year and spent the rest of the day tossing to Bokuto.  


   As dusk neared, both boys cooked dinner together. Bokuto was surprisingly domestic, though he claimed it was all learned from his home economics class when Akaashi teased him about it. Akaashi fell asleep on his couch while watching some horrible American spy movie. He woke up the next morning to an empty house and a note reading ‘thank you for having me over, sleep tight Akaashi <3’. The warm feeling Akaashi was growing familiar with, crawled all the way up to his ears that morning. 

   The second time Bokuto went to visit Akaashi, he brought a friend. The friend turned out to be the infamous Kuroo Tetsuro, to whom Akaashi apparently owed his entire relationship with Bokuto. 

   Of course, Akaashi invited them both inside for dinner and they both accepted gratefully, willing to help with preparations in any way. 

   “So you’re the ‘cute window-boy,’” Kuroo grinned, earning a glare from his silver-haired friend. 

   “And you’re the one who doesn’t know his own address?” Akaashi asked, raising his eyebrows. This earned a hoot of laughter from Bokuto. 

   The third time Bokuto had visited started via throwing pebbles at his bedroom window, again. Akaashi opened his window with a soft smile that night, seeing as Bokuto had in fact not interrupted him or Lemony Snicket. 

“Would you like to come in, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto stared blankly for a few seconds as if the words couldn’t quite register in his brain. “Nah, don’t worry about it.” he finally spoke. 

“Is something wrong?” Akaashi asked, furrowing his eyebrows together.

“Oh, yeah! Right!” Bokuto suddenly yelled, laughing hollowly. “I got into some trouble with my aunt and she isn’t really planning on letting me leave the house too freely for a bit, so it might be a while before I see you again.”

“I see.”  was all Akaashi said, understanding that Bokuto didn’t want to be pressed on the matter.     

Bokuto excused himself shortly after, saying that he had to deliver the same message to Kuroo before his aunt noticed that he was gone.

  


* * *

It has been four months, twelve days and approximately thirteen hours since Akaashi last saw Bokuto. Akaashi tried preparing for this moment, he really did. It was probably inevitable that he would meet Bokuto again when Bokuto’s best friend lives three blocks away, and especially when Akaashi enrolled himself at Fukurodani academy  _ then _ opted to join the volleyball team. Akaashi could probably be considered somewhat of a masochist.   


   Four months, twelve days and approximately thirteen hours was apparently not enough time for Akaashi to prepare himself. His hands are shaky, even as he twists his fingers together and apart again, a quirk of his. Apparently, another one of his quirks is embarrassing himself to the point of wanting to curl into a ball and cry, because as soon as Akaashi catches a glimpse of silver out of the corner of his eye and immediately whips his head around to come face-to-face with Bokuto Koutarou. Akaashi felt his throat go dry as he racks his brains for the right words to say. 

   “Hey! You’re one of the first-years who joined the team!” Bokuto says, smiling widely. 

   Akaashi only nods slowly. He opens his mouth to say something along the lines of  _ Don’t you remember me, Bokuto-san? _ but Bokuto takes off in another direction when someone summons him with a “Hey, ace!”. 

   Akaashi watches as Bokuto jogs across the gym and  _ holy shit did his biceps get even bigger?  _ A feeling of hurt washes over Akaashi’s body, almost comforting in familiarity. 

   The rest of practice went by in a blur, basic introductions and a quick 3-on-3 game with between the first years (with help from the third years). Akaashi couldn’t help but be distracted by Bokuto, who watched the match intently but failed to acknowledge the setter’s identity. Akaashi tried to accept that Bokuto had no idea who he was as he dragged his feet towards the train station after practice finished. 

   “Hey hey hey! Akaashi-kun!”

   Akaashi turns his head around so fast that he probably gives himself whiplash, for the second time today. 

   “Bokuto-san?”

   Bokuto trots towards Akaashi, backpack and volleyball bag in tow. “Good practice today Akaashi-kun! Your sets feel so great to spike!”

   “It’s not like you’ve never spiked my tosses before,” Akaashi said dryly, almost feeling guilty for speaking in such a way to his senior. But, Bokuto was his friend first, even if he doesn’t remember it. 

   Bokuto freezes and blinks a few times before doubling over in laughter. Akaashi feels the tips of his ears starting to burn. What was so funny about what he just said? Before he had a chance to ask, he felt strong arms wrapping around him and Bokuto pulls him into a hug, seemingly on the verge of hysterics. 

   “You remember me, you remember, you remember!” Bokuto chants, releasing Akaashi from his hold several seconds later. 

   “Bokuto-san, why wouldn’t I remember you?” Akaashi asks with a frown. His head was spinning, and it wasn’t only from his frequent flinching. 

   “Well once maybe two months ago, I went to your house to see if you wanted to hang out, right? So, I knocked on the door and then this lady answered, and I think it was your mom. Then I asked if you were here and she said ‘Yeah’ so I was like ‘Can you tell him that I’m here?’ and she left for a few minutes.” Bokuto tells the story with many hand gestures as he follows Akaashi to the train platform. “So I waited there for a bit, then she came back and was like ‘Keiji doesn’t have a friend named Bokuto’ and closed the door so I thought that you forgot about me or you were mad at me because I didn’t visit for two months or somethin’,” he explains, sighing at the end of his ramble. Their train arrives, and Bokuto sits in the seat beside Akaashi as he continues to speak. “But I’m so glad that you didn’t forget about me, ‘Kaashi!”

   “Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says slowly and monotonously. “That didn’t happen.” 

   Bokuto frowns. “What do you mean? Of course, it happened.”

   Akaashi stares at his shoes. “No, it didn’t.”

   “Yes, it did!” Bokuto exclaims, standing up and stomping his foot on the ground. “I saw your mother with my own two eyes!”

   “Bokuto-san, my mother died two years ago,” Akaashi whispers. The words burned his throat as the spinning in his head grew more violent.

Bokuto slowly sits down again and places his head between his hands. “I did it again. I’m so sorry Akaashi. You’re right, it never happened.” Bokuto speaks quietly as if he was informing himself of something.

  


* * *

  


 The Tokyo inter-high preliminaries were rapidly approaching, and the only thing on his mind was volleyball. More specifically, Bokuto and volleyball.  


   Coach Yamiji was nothing short of impressed by Akaashi’s setting skills, and by some miracle, he was granted a spot as a starter. (Akaashi’s compatibility and overall patience when it came to the team’s  _ beloved _ ace may have had an influence too.)

   The spiker-setter duo had fallen into a nice routine. Every day after practice, Bokuto would accompany Akaashi to the train station. Once a week Bokuto would buy them some kind of dinner, and the other four days they would get right onto the train. Every day, Bokuto would insist on walking Akaashi home, and four times a week Akaashi would invite Bokuto into his home for dinner. Twice a week, Bokuto would claim that he has plans with Kuroo or his aunt, and twice he would accept. Two times a week, Akaashi would offer to help Bokuto with his math homework (despite it being a grade above him) and once a week, Bokuto would meekly (but gratefully) receive tutoring. 

   It was a Friday in July, one of the days where Bokuto accepted the dinner invitation but declined the math tutoring. Instead, the ace opted to have a marathon of Western spy movies, the ones with big explosion scenes that rattle the floors. 

   Halfway through the second movie, Akaashi realized that he was paying more attention to Bokuto than the plot or special effects. The shimmer in Bokuto’s eyes and the way that he bites his bottom lip were much more interesting than the way ‘protagonist A’ knocked someone out with the flick of his wrist. 

   “You’re staying over tonight, right?” Akaashi asks, proceeding to muffle a yawn. 

   “Are you sure that’s okay?” Bokuto says, tearing his gaze away from the television screen. Akaashi assures Bokuto that he was always welcome and Bokuto excuses himself to call his aunt and tell her of his plans. 

   Akaashi paused the movie despite Bokuto’s protests, so the ace wouldn’t miss any ridiculous action scene. He soon realizes that it wasn’t solely out of politeness that Bokuto suggested leaving the movie running. 

   “It’s just one time,” Bokuto hissed from Akaashi’s kitchen, desperately trying to keep his voice down. “I’ll be back in the morning. It will be fine. No, I already agreed to stay over. I’m not going to just take it back and tell him that I need to leave. I’m almost seventeen, you don’t need to baby me.”

   Akaashi hits ‘play’ on the movie again, deciding not to eavesdrop anymore on Bokuto’s phone call. Bokuto drags his feet back into the room five minutes later, sighing and slumping onto the couch beside Akaashi. 

   “Is something wrong, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks softly, frowning. 

   Bokuto immediately sits up straight and grins. “Don’t worry about it, ‘Kaashi!”

   “Alright,” Akaashi says, turning back to the television screen and letting his mind wander.

   After another two hours of CGI explosions and shittily dubbed Western movies, it was decided to call it a night. Bokuto set up the guest futon he was quite familiar with as Akaashi picks out clothing to let Bokuto wear. Bokuto picks up the pair of grey sweatpants provided and frowns. 

   “Aren’t these mine?” he asks, turning them around in his hands.  

   Akaashi shrugs. “Probably. I mean, you forget your things here a lot. I could probably turn the guest room into your own personal space if I gathered everything,” he says, smiling softly. 

   “Yeah,” Bokuto agrees with a smile. “I don’t wanna be nosy or anything, but does your dad or someone live here? You’ve always been alone in this house since I’ve been coming over when you were still in junior high.” 

   “He does,” Akaashi nods. “He just leaves for business a lot. Usually for week or month intervals; but it’s nice when he comes back, even if it is only for a few days at a time. I guess you’ve never seen him, strange coincidence.”

   “It sucks that you always have to be alone though, don’t you have any other family members?”

   “Not really, but I don’t mind,” Akaashi says, shrugging again. “I’ve never really had any interest in having too many friends, so I’m usually by myself anyways.” 

   Bokuto frowns, then stands up. He crosses the room in a few strides and tackles Akaashi in a hug. “Don’t worry ‘Kaashi! You’ve got me now! We’ll never be alone again!” he chirps, laughing heartily. 

   Akaashi couldn’t resist the laugh that bubbles out of his mouth, though he couldn’t ignore the way Bokuto said ‘we’ instead of ‘you’. Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, Akaashi decides to for once, let himself enjoy the moment of bliss. Everything was feeling so warm.

  


* * *

Akaashi lays in bed and listens to Bokuto’s rhythmic breathing from the floor below him.  _ There is so much unknown about Bokuto, _ Akaashi realizes, turning onto his side to look at the ace. Akaashi knows Bokuto’s favourite food and the time that he goes jogging on weekend mornings. Akaashi knows how to handle the ace’s dejected mode (to some extent, it has only happened a few times in practice matches).  He knows what Bokuto’s hair looks like when it’s not spiked up and he knows that Bokuto still uses children’s toothpaste because the others are ‘too minty’.   


   Akaashi doesn’t know what Bokuto’s bedroom looks like or whether he lives in an apartment or a house. He doesn’t know Bokuto’s parents' names or how often they visit their son. Akaashi has no idea if Bokuto ever goes into dejected mode off of the volleyball court. He doesn’t know why Bokuto chose to go to Fukurodani if it was far from home. 

_ Bokuto is always like a transparent diamond, but it was once believed that diamonds formed from compressed coal.  _ Akaashi thinks, heavy eyes winning as he drifts into unconsciousness.

  


* * *

  


_  It was a Friday night in June, one of the days where Bokuto would accept help with his math homework. The practice had been extremely tiring that day, and Bokuto had already planned to sleep over; so they settled into bed by 23:30. _   


_    Akaashi fell asleep almost immediately, assuming Bokuto had done the same judging by the stillness and silence from the guest futon. Around 1:03 Akaashi woke up, needing to pee. He dragged himself out of bed, careful not to be too loud. He peeked at Bokuto out of the corner of his eye, to make sure that he hadn’t woken him up, just to see, in fact, that the ace was already awake.  _

_    Bokuto was laying on his side, staring at his outstretched hands. His salt and pepper hair was sprawled all over the pillow, mixing into a black and silver mess.  _

_    “Bokuto-san,” Akaashi whispered. “What are you doing awake?”  _

_    Bokuto didn’t acknowledge the setter, only continuing to stare at his palms. Akaashi stalked over slowly and sat down cross-legged in front of Bokuto, floor thumping softly.  _

_    “Bokuto-san,” he repeated. “What happened to your hands?”  _

_    Bokuto looked at Akaashi tiredly and blinked a few times. “They’re different,” he stated simply. “They’re not the same as they used to be.” _

_    “In what way are they different?”  _

_    Bokuto didn’t reply. Akaashi waited three minutes, but Bokuto never replied. _

_    “Do your hands hurt. Bokuto-san?”  _

_    “No. They’ve just changed. They look different.” _

_    Akaashi nodded. “Do you think that you will be able to get some sleep soon? It’s very late.” _

_    Bokuto turned to lay on his other side, back to Akaashi. The setter sighed and grabbed some pillows to lay on the ground before falling asleep beside Bokuto, not in the mood to deal with any more antics that night. _

_   
_

* * *

  


 Akaashi wakes up at 3:56 to find the guest futon empty. He sits up quickly in his bed and scans his room for his missing friend, anxiety suddenly pumping through his veins. Akaashi rubs his eyes and flicks on a lamp, quickly spotting Bokuto sitting against the wall, knees hugged against his chest.  


   “Bokuto-san?” Akaashi whispers, standing up slowly and walking towards him. “Is something wrong?” 

   Bokuto glares, an expression Akaashi has never witnessed before. “Get away,” he hisses, voice filled with venom. “Get the fuck away from me.”

   The raven takes a few steps back and crouches down, exhaling shakily. “What’s going on?” he asks again, heart thumping against his ribcage. 

   “They’re coming for me!” Bokuto yells, putting his head between his knees. “They’ve been following me for so long!” 

   Akaashi feels his hands start to quiver. He laces them together and pulls them apart repetitively, which usually helps calm his nerves, but was having no effect right now. “Who is following you, Bokuto-san?” he asks, trying to keep his voice level. 

   “I don’t know! I can feel them watching me, I swear!”

   Akaashi bites his bottom lip and strains his face to keep it emotionless. “Why would they be watching you?”

   “You look so scared Akaashi. Have they been following you too?” Bokuto grabs handfuls of his hair and scrunches his eyes in a frown. 

   “No, Bokuto-san. I am safe. I’m going to take out my phone now.” Akaashi reaches for Bokuto’s phone instead, unlocking it with the password ‘1234’. He clicks on the only contact he can think of in this situation, which proves to be a difficult task with his long fingers shaking so violently. 

   “Bokuto, I told you not to call me at this time in the night unless it’s an absolute emergency,” a voice droned through the speaker.

   “Kuroo-san,” Akaashi said, voice quivering.

   “Wait, who is this? Akaashi? Is something wrong?”

   “I think that Bokuto-san is having some kind of psychotic break,” Akaashi explains, heart pounding faster, realizing the heavy truth that comes with his words. 

   “That bastard,” Kuroo hisses under his breath. “Look Akaashi, I need you to keep talking to him. Ask him simple questions. Don’t play along with anything but don’t tell him that he’s delusional or crazy or anything like that. I’ll be over in three minutes.”

   “The key is in the mailbox. We’re in the second door on the right after you go up the stairs.”

“Got it,” Kuroo hangs up the phone. 

   Akaashi follows the instructions to the best of his ability; asking simple questions and desperately trying to keep himself stable. He tries to stay calm and convince himself that he was shaking because the room had a draft, not because his best friend was experiencing psychosis. 

   Soon enough, Kuroo silently enters the bedroom and drops a backpack on the floor. He places a hand on Akaashi’s shoulder and gives him a look of reassurance, something the setter was currently desperate for. 

   Akaashi moves to give them distance as Kuroo fishes out a water bottle and some pills from his backpack. Memories of the next minutes are choppy, only appearing in frames. Kuroo sitting cross-legged in front of Bokuto and placing the items in between them. Bokuto stiffly swallowing a pill dry, pushing the water across the room. Kuroo helping Bokuto lay in the bed. Feet, presumably his own, walking out of his bedroom. A clock, reading 4:34. 

   Akaashi feels his head start to spin faster as he leans against the wall in the hallway for support. Kuroo lets a “shit” slip from his lips as Akaashi’s knees buckle and he slides down the wall. Placing his head between his knees in a similar fashion to Bokuto thirty-five minutes ago, Akaashi opts to focus on breathing before letting his mind be plagued with questions left unanswered. 

Kuroo offers the support he can, comforting words and joining in on breathing exercises. This seemed quite uncharacteristic of him, being so well-versed in how to handle unexpected psychiatric situations. After a few minutes, Akaashi catches his breath and Kuroo becomes very much less tense.

“I’m so sorry,” Kuroo sighs from his spot sitting on the floor across the hallway. “You shouldn’t have had to experience that.”

   “It’s not your fault, Kuroo-san. You handled that situation much better than I could have, anyway,” Akaashi whispers, opening his eyes as the dizziness clears up. 

   “No,” Kuroo says, expression faltering. “It is my fault.”

   Akaashi nods silently. 

   “You’re not even going to ask?”

   “I don’t want to pry into something that I don’t have the right to ask about.”

   “God, Akaashi. You’re too polite for your own good,” Kuroo laughs weakly and pauses. “We were at this crazy party in the summer,” he starts. “One of the kids I grew up with was hosting. Both me and Bo drank a lot, we weren’t really sober enough to make logical decisions. Someone offered us this seedy blunt, swore up and down that we would have a good buzz. I didn’t take it, but you know Bokuto, too trusting for his own good. I didn’t stop him,” Kuroo lets out a deep sigh. “It was only marijuana. The stuff triggered a chemical imbalance in his brain and a few months later, Bokuto was diagnosed with schizophrenia.”

   Akaashi feels his heart drop to his stomach. It made sense and filled all the plot holes in the series of (not all unfortunate) events that have taken place in his friendship with Bokuto so far. Lifting his head to look at Kuroo, he asks, “And the pill he just swallowed?”

   “Antipsychotics. Bo leaves a few at my house in case he ever forgets to take his. He’ll be fine once they kick in, just tired.”He didn’t plan to sleep over tonight, did he?” 

   “No. I insisted that Bokuto-san stay, but he should have gone home, I’m sorry,” he says frowning at the ground again. 

   “Don’t say that Akaashi,” Kuroo says with a weak laugh. “Bokuto should be apologizing to you, taking a risk like this.”

   Akaashi shrugs. “I guess, but it must be hard to open up to someone about that, though. I don’t even want to imagine what would have happened had you not been three blocks away, Kuroo-san.”

   “You would have figured it out. You’re smart, Akaashi,” Kuroo says, lips tugging up at the corners. “And a hell of a lot calmer than I am. I don’t know how you can deal with Bo so easily. We’re usually at each other's throats by the fourth day of summer training camp.” 

   “We should get some sleep,” Akaashi says, attempting to smile. “I’m assuming you’ll stay over for what’s left of the night?” 

   Kuroo accepts the invitation gratefully and pulls out his phone to text his parents. After bickering over who would sleep on the couch, Akaashi victoriously flopped into leather cushions and covered himself with a blanket. 

* * *

_   
_

_ Thinking about something is like picking up a stone when taking a walk, either while skipping rocks on the beach, for example, or looking for a way to shatter the glass doors of a museum. When you think about something, it adds a bit of weight to your walk, and as you think about more and more things you are liable to feel heavier and heavier, until you are so burdened you cannot take any further steps, and can only sit and stare at the gentle movements of the ocean waves or security guards, thinking too hard about too many things to do anything else. _   


  


   “Good morning,” Kuroo yawns as he spots Akaashi awake. 

Akaashi sighs and places the novel on the floor, surrendering another one of his attempts to distract himself. “Does three hours of sleep really leave you well rested, Kuroo-san?” Akaashi asks, eyebrows moving closer to his hairline. 

“It’s better than staying awake to read some American novel, night owl,” Kuroo teases, his last two words pronounced thickly-accented English. “But seriously, can you read all those books in English? Impressive.”

“I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read this series, I’ve probably memorized this last book by now,” Akaashi bites his lip. “Bokuto-san isn’t awake yet, is he?” 

“He was still passed out when I woke up. Let’s give him a few more hours, he needs it.”

“Of course. I’m just a little bit anxious, I guess,” Akaashi admits. 

“Well, there’s no use in sitting here and sulking,” Kuroo says, inviting himself into Akaashi’s kitchen. “Have you ever baked raspberry muffins before, Akaashi?”

   Akaashi shakes his head with a weak smile, weight and burden increasing with every step he takes following Kuroo.  

  


* * *

  


 “Hey Akaashi,” Kuroo chirps, drying his hands with the towel hung over the stove handle. “Can you watch the last batch of muffins? I’m gonna go wake up Bo.”  


   Akaashi nods and turns to look at his kitchen. Every inch of counter space was covered in food- more specifically, raspberry muffins. He doesn’t know why he agreed to bake in the first place, (Akaashi prefers working on the upper part of the stove) much less quadruple the recipe. He wasn’t sure what to expect from using nine cups of flour in a recipe and Akaashi is no math expert or master baker, but twelve multiplied by four is forty-eight. He struggled to understand how muffins number sixty through seventy-two were currently being baked in the oven. Akaashi grabbed the nearest muffin and carefully tore it in two, shoving the bottom part into his mouth. 

   “‘Morning, Akaashi,” Bokuto greets him sheepishly. “What’s that great sm- woah!” he interrupts himself, gasping upon seeing the dozens of muffins scattered around the kitchen. 

   “Good morning Bokuto-san. Care for a muffin, or maybe ten?” Akaashi asks, cheeks stuffed.

   Bokuto blinks a few times, before closing his eyes and laughing heartily. “Are you trying to make a joke, ‘Kaashi?”

   “Are you trying to say that you didn’t just laugh at it?” he retorts, words muffled by the food restricting his tongue movement. Akaashi stands up and takes a step towards Bokuto, feeling some of the weight disappear. 

   “But seriously, is this some kind of new diet you’re trying? I know it’s important to eat lots of carbs with all the volleyball training we’re doing but…” Bokuto trails off, eyes scanning each muffin. 

   “I was thinking that we should bring a bunch in for the team, actually,” Akaashi says, moments after the idea popped into his head. The  _ perfect _ solution for all of the extra carbohydrates laying around his house. Akaashi must be somewhat of a genius, after all. 

   “I’ll have to snatch some for Nekoma, too,” Kuroo cackles, entering the room. “I need to be a good leader for all my kouhai.”

   “If you’re talking about Kenma-san, than you won’t need muffins to keep his admiration,” Akaashi smirks. Bokuto stifles a laugh as Kuroo grew redder. 

   “What are you implying, Akaashi? Maybe I should get you to start calling me ‘Kuroo-senpai’ so you’ll remember to show some respect!” Kuroo teases, smile in his voice. 

“Akaashi! I just had the best idea!”

“No Bokuto-san, I will not start calling you senpai.” Akaashi smiles, the pressure in his chest being replaced with warmth, with happiness. 

“

Kuroo was later sent off with thirty muffins and a restraining order from Akaashi’s oven. 

  


* * *

  


 “I’m so sorry, Akaashi.”  


Akaashi turns his head to see Bokuto staring at the ground guiltily. 

He swallows thickly and speaks slowly, “You don’t need to apologize, Bokuto-san.” 

“Yes I do,” Bokuto says in a foreign tone of voice. It was serious, but quivering with anxiety. “It was so stupid of me to keep that a secret from you. What if I started getting violent? The last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you, Akaashi. I was a coward. I was scared. Scared of what you would think. Maybe you don’t want to be friends with a crazy person? Sometimes, I wouldn’t wanna be friends with myself. I understand if you don’t want to-”

   “It was stupid” Akaashi chides, interrupting the rant. “But, I’m in no place to judge you. You’re strong, Bokuto-san. I’ll always be here to support you. Don’t worry about me.”

   Akaashi places a hand on Bokuto’s back and smiles. Less than a second later, strong arms are being wrapped around him as the shoulder of his black t-shirt becomes weighted with tears. He hesitantly wraps his arms around Bokuto’s waist and closes his eyes. 

There’s soft fabric under his fingertips. The scent of sweat and lavender floods his nostrils. He can hear the sound of Bokuto’s wailing. It reminds him of the off-tune piano his mother used to play at night. Akaashi opens up and hears a choked sob harmonizing with the ace’s cries, and realizes that it came from his own mouth. The static in Akaashi’s head hisses louder, tuning out any other noises that may be emerging from his mouth. He grabs handfuls of Bokuto’s sweater as his knees buckle and he drags them both to the ground. 

“It’s so hard, Akaashi. Sometimes I have scary, scary thoughts that I can’t control. It’s not like voices, just commands that come from my brain. And sometimes I think that I’m going to die- that someone is stalking me and wants to hurt me. Some days I’m so unstable that I’ll refuse to leave my bedroom. I’m trying, Akaashi. I’m trying so hard to make the team proud and participate in nationals this year…” Bokuto trails off, pausing every few seconds to sniffle or gasp for air.

Akaashi clutches Bokuto’s sweater and listens silently mouth open and breathing unsteady. _ I’ll be here for you, Bokuto-san, _ he tries to say. It comes out as a mumble of wails and tears instead, but somehow, Bokuto understands. 

Akaashi opens his bloodshot eyes and stares into Bokuto’s golden irises, which still sparkled in the dim indoor light. “‘Friends can make you feel that the world is smaller and less sneaky than it really is because you know people who have similar experiences.’” he quotes. “Lemony Snicket.”

“‘Perhaps I should just bury myself and become a diamond after thousands of years of intense pressure.’” Bokuto grins and presses his red nose against Akaashi’s. “Also Lemony Snicket.”

Akaashi swallows thickly because he can practically  _ taste _ the raspberry muffin from Bokuto’s breath. He drags his eyes down to look at Bokuto’s lips, pink and chapped. The static in his head clears as Akaashi leans back and dries his eyes, letting out a final shutter of tension.

  


* * *

  


 The Fukurodani volleyball team was in short, worshipping Akaashi for the extra sugar boost after their painful Monday morning practice.  


   “You’re a saint, Akaashi,” Komi praises, crumbs flying from his mouth as he speaks. 

   “I barely did anything,” Akaashi shrugs. “Kuroo-san did most of the actual baking, I just made sure my kitchen wasn’t set on fire.”

   “Kuroo Tetsurou from Nekoma? The middle blocker with the spiky hair?” Sarukui gapes. 

   “Associating with the enemy? You’re almost as ruthless as Bokuto by this point,” Komi teases with a wink.

   “You can’t blame him, Kuroo is almost as good at baking as I am,” Bokuto grins, eating what was probably his fourth raspberry muffin. 

   “You refused to measure anything when we made milk buns and added so much yeast that they exploded, Bokuto-san.”

   “Akaashi! I thought we agreed not to talk about that!”

   “I don’t understand how you do it, Akaashi,” Konoha shakes his head. “Dealing with both Kuroo-san and our  _ beloved _ ace at the same time? You must have an endless amount of patience.”

   “It’s more like a smaller reserve that I leave to the side for emergencies,” Akaashi says, smile in his voice. “But honestly, emergencies happen every day.”

   “That must be true when you spend most of them with Bokuto,” Konoha agrees, voice heavy with implication. 

“Right,” Akaashi chokes out, throat going dry.

“Akaashi! Tell Komi that I am an amazing cook!” Bokuto whines from the opposite side of the club room, falling victim to his teammates’ pestering. 

“Of course you are,” Akaashi says dryly, earning snickers from the group of second-years. 

“You guys are worse than old married couples,” Sarukui jokes, rolling his eyes. 

Akaashi felt his heart leap at the back of his neck grew warm. “Bokuto-san and I aren’t-”

“I would be the best husband,” Bokuto interrupts, slinging an arm around Akaashi’s shoulder. Akaashi only lets out a sigh and suggests that Bokuto hurry and walk him to class like the good husband he was if they didn’t want to be late for homeroom. They yell out goodbyes to the remaining club members and leave. 

“Do you really think that I would be a good husband, Akaashi?” Bokuto ponders, fingers resting on his chin. 

“I’m sure you would be a great husband, Bokuto-san. You aren’t planning to propose to anyone, are you?” 

Bokuto frowns and hums quietly. “Not yet…” he pauses before smirking knowingly. “That’s cute, by the way.”

“What’s cute?” Akaashi asks, stopping outside of his homeroom door. 

“The way you fiddle with your fingers,” Bokuto grins before dashing towards to the second years’

classroom division. 

“Cute,” Akaashi whispers, flexing his long fingers to inspect them.

  


* * *

  


Nationals approach rapidly, faster than Akaashi could have ever predicted. The weeks leading up January could only be described by three words: Volleyball, Bokuto, oblivion. 

As exhausting as it was, Akaashi couldn’t ignore the buzz of excitement in his chest as they checked into one ofthe hotels closer to the venue. The captain called for everyone’s attention as he announced the sleeping arrangements. 

“-okuto and Akaashi will share that room,” he finishes. 

Bokuto’s eyes light up as he shouts a victorious “Hey, hey, hey!” 

Akaashi casts him a crooked smile as he notices the smirks and whispers from the other members of the team. 

Konoha leans forwards and whispers in Akaashi’s ear, “Keep it family-friendly, yeah?” 

The setter tries to summon his most menacing glare, but the potency of it is dulled by his burning cheeks. 

After a receiving a quick talk (and a very strict curfew) from the coach, the team is dismissed for the night. Akaashi immediately starts retreating  towards his room and Bokuto opts to follow him like a puppy. (Akaashi will never admit it, but it’s comforting to have his best friend by his side so consistently.) 

“Did you bring your laptop, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto asks, bouncing on his single bed restlessly. 

Akaashi closes his book and sighs, “Of course, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto launches himself across the room, presumably aiming for Akaashi himself. The hoots in victory, not hesitating to tuck himself under the covers.

“I say we try switching it up tonight, what do you say?” Bokuto says, pressing his cheek to Akaashi’s shoulder. 

The setter raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Horror movies!” he cheers.

Akaashi groans, glancing longingly at the abandoned novel beside him.

  


* * *

  


“Akaashi?”

Akaashi snaps his eyes open quickly, prepared to see some kind of demonic spirit haunting him in his sleep. What he sees when he turns to lay on his other shoulder might be even more terrifying- not that Bokuto Koutarou could ever harm a fly. 

But Bokuto had an aesthetic, an aura that was all but predacious. His strength, his (seemingly) unwavering confidence and his owl-like eyes. 

The exact golden eyes that found a way to shine in the dark hotel room, staring right at Akaashi. 

His voice was breathy when he asked “Is something wrong?”  
“That was a scary movie,” Bokuto says, voice becoming whinier and whinier at an exponential rate. “Can I sleep beside you?”

“No.”

Bokuto completely disregards the denial as he springs out of bed and shuffles under the covers beside Akaashi.

“Thanks, ‘Kaashi! You’re the best. I know I can always count on you.”

Akaashi hums in acknowledgement, closing his eyes and subtly placing his head on Bokuto’s shoulder. He feels a ghost of lips on his forehead as his fuzzy brain fades to unconsciousness. 

  
  


* * *

  


The first day of nationals was exciting, tense but overall, something Akaashi felt prepared for. Their first match was one of the last ones in the day, giving the team time  


“Yeah, like, Fukurodani’s ace, Bokuto.”

Akaashi jerks his head in the direction of the voice, which was a harder task when one is standing in the middle of a highschool national-league sport venue. 

The boy is tall- probably taller than Bokuto’s impressive almost-185-centimeters. He has dark hair and slanted eyes. 

“The guy is totally wacked out.”

Akaashi’s legs freeze in place. People continue to walk past him, brushing and shoving him in different directions. His teammates are long gone, lost in the sea of volleyball players. Bitter rage is pumping through his veins and frustration in growing with every person who steps on his foot or yells in his ear. Akaashi doesn’t know how long he stands there, listening to the slander about his team’s ace and his best friend. 

“ _...went bat-shit crazy last year...forgot to take his meds... schitzo...terrifying…” _

Akaashi should just swallow his retort and move on, validate his calm and cool reputation. But, the malicious words were feeding his flame and Akaashi realized: he couldn’t be the bigger person if the other boy was five centimeters taller. 

Dragging his feet across the linoleum floors, Akaashi clenches his right hand into a tight fist. Someone might have called his name at that moment, but everything sounded like it was underwater. At least he remembered to put his weight into it, as Akaashi landed the first punch on the boy’s jawline.


End file.
